


The Love Shot

by blueunbroken



Category: Sands of Arawiya - Hafsah Faizal, We Free the Stars, We Hunt the Flame
Genre: (again), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, I dont know how to tag, Misunderstandings, altair doesn't know why they're enemies, but that part is canon so, deen dies, nasir is barely mentioned im sorry, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29705442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueunbroken/pseuds/blueunbroken
Summary: “How much?”Static. Murmurs. Then— “Two hundred grand.”I’d do it for free, but—“Deal.”(or: altair killed yasmine's brother, and now yasmine has been contracted to kill altair. but as always, misunderstandings make things a bit more complicated.)
Relationships: Altair al-Badawi/Yasmine Ra'ad
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	The Love Shot

“How much?”

Static. Murmurs. Then— “Two hundred grand.” 

_I’d do it for free, but—_ “Deal.”

xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx

Yasmine Ra’ad ducked out of the limousine, murmuring a quick thanks to the chauffeur. Light spilled from beneath the closed double doors in front of her, chased after by voices. It was too bad she wouldn’t be able to lose herself to the party waiting beyond, but she would have her fun. 

Crimson gown trailing behind her like a river of blood, Yasmine strode towards the doors. The thug of a guard at the doors watched her, greedy eyes eating up every swaying step. She peered up at him from beneath her eyelashes, unable to contain her smirk as the man stared down stupidly at her, practically drooling. 

A shriek of laughter from within the venue broke his stupor and he cleared his throat. “Identification or invitation?” 

Yasmine moved aside the silk folds of the dress, revealing the pearl-studded hilt of her pistol.

The man grinned, a flash of sharp teeth. She returned it.

He pushed open the doors and Yasmine shot him a wink before stepping into the dizzying light flooding the hall. She swiped a glass from the tray of a passing waiter, ignoring his incredulous look. The dark red of her attire stood out like a drop of blood in snow as she passed other women in white gowns and men in pressed suits of the same color. For pity’s sake, was fashion dead?

Arches were cut close to the walls, leaving twin halls of darkness on either side of the room. Streaks of white in the shadows hinted at secret affairs, but Yasmine didn’t dwell. She stepped beneath an arch, ignoring a giggle that came from somewhere far too close. Sipping at the drink, she leaned against the wall to take in the rest of the hall. 

Most minglers were from the upper class, heads too high in the sky to realize that there were others among them. Wearing faces similar to theirs to hide the demons beneath. There was Effendi Fawda, an esteemed banker on one front, a money launderer on the other hand. Yasmine had once spit in his face, and wished it had been her nails that had landed on his cheek instead. He was surrounded by a number of others of his trade, but none she recognized. She clicked her tongue. Shewould need to get acquainted again, it seemed. 

A man stumbled up beside her, a dreamy smile on his face. “Hello. Did it hurt?” 

Yasmine tilted her head, eyeing the immaculate suit he wore. Blue eyes blinked back at her drowsily. Tonight’s prey had blue eyes. But not black hair. 

“Did what hurt?” Yasmine turned back to watching the crowd. He wasn’t her target, and he didn’t look to be much of a threat. And she didn’t mind talking.

“When you fell from heaven?” 

She laughed. “I know I’m pretty, but no, I’m not the devil.” 

The man blubbered something else, but Yasmine’s attention caught on two men seated at a table at the other end of the hall. They held themselves with a poised air, both seated sideways, giving her a good look at their profiles. 

The smaller man scanned the room even as he exchanged quick words with his friend, and Yasmine shrunk deeper into the shadows. He looked far more dangerous than his friend, despite looking more… contained than the other. 

The bigger one was decked in a brown suit, and she hated to admit that the tight-fitting clothing actually looked good. On him. (Yasmine had once murdered a man for wearing a brown suit. Well, she’d had to when he nearly ousted her to the police. But he’d been in a brown suit, then. And he’d looked like a drowned monkey.) He lifted a hand, running his fingers through his already ruffled golden hair, eyes flashing a bright blue as they caught in the light. A smirk curled her lips. 

_There you are._

She did a quick sweep of the crowd between them—there were too many civilians, she would have to lure him out. Stabbing him in the middle of such a party wouldn’t bode well for her image. 

She snapped her attention back to the man when he moved. He’d reached out to swat at his friend, and she managed to convince herself she was just observing when she watched the way his arm flexed as he dropped his hand back to the table. It wasn’t her fault he looked good. 

The man laughed at something his friend said, locks burning fiery in the light as he shook his head. The smile was too childlike, eyes too bright, entire demeanor _innocent_. Was he really the man that had murdered her brother in cold blood? That had fired a bullet straight into Deen’s heart?

 _Focus_ , she reminded herself, shifting her gaze back to— _kharra._

He was gone. 

“Looking for me?”

Yasmine whirled around, her blubbering companion had left, and in his place stood Altair al-Bedawi. The light framed him in a glow of silver, his perfectly mussed hair a golden crown. A lazy smile curved his lips. Her glass dangled in her fingers.

 _Why the hell are you so handsome?_ Was Yasmine’s first thought. Her second thought was: _Why the hell are you so tall?_ She said, “Where the hell did you come from?” 

The smile morphed into a smirk. “Did you mother not tell you? Mine said—”

“Okay,” Yasmine said more to herself than to him. Then louder: “Shut up.” 

The smirk widened. “Why don’t you make me?” 

“Is that drink for me?” Yasmine swiped the glass out of his hand. With as serene a smile as she could muster, she patted the front of his too-tight brown suit, but before she could empty the glass’s contents onto it, he’d grabbed her arm—and shoved her against the arch. 

The arch was cold behind her, but as Yasmine gaped down at the long fingers curled around her arm, she suddenly felt very, very warm. Altair seemed to realize what he’d done, and he mumbled a quick apology as he drew away, plucking the drink from her hand. 

“I—” Altair paused. He chugged down the contents of the glass in a single sip, cerulean eyes never leaving hers, as though he were afraid she’d try to snatch it away from him again. As though she ever did things twice. “The suit is expensive.” 

Yasmine scowled up at him, dusting the sleeve of her dress, hoping the lingering warmth of his fingers would fade. She could still feel each one’s imprint. “So is my time.”

Altair grinned, a teasing lilt to his words. “Oh? I have money.”

Yasmine was starting to rethink not stabbing him right then and there. She needed to get them both out of here. But how? “What do you want?” 

“You’re the one who was staring at me,” Altair said. He tilted his head, hair falling over his forehead. Yasmine didn’t know why she wanted to smooth it back. Maybe it was because she liked things neat. The man let out a soft laugh. “And now you’re staring again.” 

“You…” she trailed off with a little huff. “You wouldn’t have noticed my staring if you weren’t staring at me!”

But Altair’s gaze had dropped to her lips and _oh._

“How about we get out of here?” He’d stepped closer, and she would have stepped back, she told herself, if she wasn’t already pressed against the wall. She most certainly wouldn’t have stepped closer. 

Yasmine pretended to search the crowd. “What about your friend?” 

“He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.” Altair grinned and held out a hand. “He might even have some fun, too.”

Yasmine took his hand, trying not to dwell on the word ‘ _too_.’ Or the fact that his hand very nearly enveloped hers. The way his fingers still seemed to fit so perfectly between hers. He tugged her towards him, and she had to steady herself with a hand against his chest, his heart beating slow and steady beneath her palm. 

She ignored the warmth that bloomed up her neck and darkened her cheeks. Instead, she focused on the way her pistol pulsed against her hip, each pearl pressing into her. 

All she had to do was keep up her charade, and the sun would find the man in a pool of his own blood.

xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx

He owned a black Jaguar. Not that Yasmine was surprised. But she’d expected something more flashy from a man that seemed so eccentric. Or maybe the luxury car was his friend’s. 

Altair opened the passenger door of the car, a genial smile on his face. “I promise it’s more exciting on the inside.” 

They were still holding hands, Yasmine realized as she stood there like a fool. She untangled her fingers from his, missing the warmth of them as soon as she did. Careful to keep her pistol hidden, she slipped into the car. 

The interior was, true to Altair’s words, much fancier than the exterior. The velvety lining was a dusky blue, matching the dark brown of the leather seats. The dashboard was a deep blue, too, accentuated by the brown leather steering wheel. It was… pretty. It suited him. Yasmine turned to find him watching her, face unreadable, though he pulled on a smile when he realized she’d caught him. 

Altair revved the engine, throwing a hand over the head of her seat as he backed out of the parking space. Yasmine was hyper aware of how close it was. His deep voice pulled her focus back to his face. “Like it?” 

She studied the way the moonlight slanted over his bright, chiseled features, accentuating the twinkle of his sky-mirrored eyes. Tonight, that light would be snuffed. She turned to stare out at the passing street. “Love it.”

xxx xxx xxx xxx xxx

Altair pulled up in front of a sprawling mansion. Yasmine studied the abundance of windows and balconies, half assessing, half appreciating. 

He swept out of the car, and before she could do the same, he was at her door, opening it. Holding out a hand to pull her out. Like a gentleman. Had he been gentle in dealing Deen’s death? 

Yasmine took his waiting hand, shooting him a quick smile as she smoothed down the folds of her dress. The dark red glimmered with the promise of bloodshed beneath the moonlight. Altair didn’t let go of her hand, instead threading his fingers through hers once more as he led her up the cobbled walkway. 

Yasmine tested swinging it between them, enjoying the feel while it lasted. It wasn’t a crime to have fun before committing a crime, was it?

He only let go once they reached the large mahogany doors, wrapping his arm around her waist as he dug around his suit’s pocket for his keys with his free hand. 

Inside, Altair turned on the lights, and the bulbs of a gold chandelier flickered on, illuminating a wide foyer. Yasmine didn’t pretend to hide her awe, taking in the large, bold abstract paintings adorning the light blue walls. Twin spiraling staircases unfurled in front of them, mahogany railing shining in the light. 

She didn’t notice Altair’s absence from her side until she saw him moving in her peripheral, striding down a short hall, into what she assumed was a kitchen. “Make yourself at home. Would you like a drink?” 

What if he tried to poison her? But she was thirsty. Besides, she could handle poison well enough. _That_ she knew from experience. “I wouldn’t mind a cup of qahwa.”

“Ah, so you’re a woman of taste!” He called back.

Yasmine drifted over to one of the paintings, peering up at it. It, and the matching one on the opposite wall, were filled with warm colors, and she trailed her fingers over the slightly raised, uneven brush strokes. Tried not to wonder who had painted these. _Someone with too much time,_ she thought with a scoff.

“Well.” Yasmine forced a grin. She had a mission. “It’s not everyday I enter the house of a man whose name I don’t know.” 

“Oh,” Altair’s voice carried from the kitchen, and she looked up at the sudden shift in his tone, no longer playful. He was focused on stirring a pot of qahwa, and Yasmine took an unsure step towards him. And another. And another. Until she was at the threshold of the kitchen. Altair looked up with a cold smile. “But we both know that’s not true, _Yasmine_.” 

Yasmine froze, hand dropping to her pistol—

Only to find the holster empty. 

“Looking for this?” Altair laughed, and Yasmine strung every single profanity she knew into the most eloquent sentence she could. 

The pearls of her pistol glinted in the kitchen’s light, taunting her as he twirled it, the firearm dwarfed in his large hands. 

“You know,” Altair drawled, flipping the gun again to point it at her. “I’ve been trying to figure out why you want to kill me. It has to be for more than money.”

Yasmine scanned the kitchen for any weapons she could use. “And why does it have to be for more than money?”

_Keep him talking._

“Well, then it’d be a shame, of course. I was hoping you’d be more interesting than the last they sent to kill me.” Altair leaned forward on the counter, his smirk taunting her. “That one was—” 

_Aha_. A knife set. Right behind the man. “You killed my brother,” she said, because he was going to die. And she wanted him to know why.

“I— _what_?” Altair choked and she dragged her gaze away from the knives. The man’s features had twisted into something more vexed. _Kill a man and have the heart to look offended that you’d be called out for it._ Yasmine scowled, dropping her gaze back to the pistol. He made no move to disengage the firearm’s safety. 

Yasmine lunged. 

She made it two paces before arms wrapped around her waist and flung her against the kitchen counter, arms pinned behind her. Yasmine grit her teeth, the counter digging into her lower back when she attempted to twist out of his grasp. She stopped struggling when she felt the cold barrel of her own pistol pressing against her. She glared up at the blond man, only to find him staring confusedly back.

“I can count the number of men I’ve killed on one hand,” Altair mused. “Or one foot. Why don’t people say ‘on one foot’?” 

And why was that endearing? Yasmine almost snorted as she wiggled her fingers behind her, searching the counter behind her for something. Anything. He had just told her he kept a log of all the people he killed and she was _endeared_. “ _Shut up_ —”

“I don’t know what else I should be doing aside from shooting you, and you’re in no position to—”

 _Well, guess we’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way._

“Deen Ra’ad,” Yasmine hissed, shoving Altair away from her. The man stumbled slightly, eyes going wide, mouth parting in surprise. Yasmine didn’t give him a second more before she swiped her nails at his face, and Altair—

Altair didn’t even try to stop her. 

He just stood there and took it, and Yasmine waited for the satisfaction that never came as his features twisted in pain. Her gun had clattered to the floor and Yasmine swooped down to grab it.

She let it dance over her fingers, shoving the barrel against Altair’s chest with a harsh thud, right over his heart. Altair didn’t move. Didn’t try to stop her, to fight her, only looked down at the glittering weapon. 

It gave her pause.

“Oh,” Altair said, slumping back against the kitchen’s island. His blue eyes weren’t bright anymore. No, they were full of ache, and Yasmine—Yasmine had never killed anyone that hadn’t fought back. 

“Yes, ‘ _oh.’_ ” She spat. The anger in her veins settled and twisted.

“Deen—” 

“Don’t,” Yasmine hissed, dropping her gaze to the pistol in her white-knuckled hands. She couldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t. All she had to do was unlock the gun’s safety. Pull the trigger. Then why couldn’t she? “Don’t say his name.” 

“Do you want to know why I killed him?” Altair’s voice was quiet, a whisper that was loud in the silence of the room. “Do you want to know why I killed the man that saved my life?”

 _What?_

The metal in her palms felt like lead. She was supposed to be angry. Altair had just admitted to killing her brother. Then why didn’t she feel anything? Why did she just feel _numb_? Why did _he_ sound… sad? The pistol in her hands trembled, and she pressed it harder against Altair’s chest.

_The man that saved him?_

She didn't know what to think, didn't think she could think at all, as she tried to make sense of the words. Altair didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t seem to care for one. 

“We were working on a case together. He’d approached me a few years back, before he’d become the chief of police. Our enemies were the same, and I agreed. I helped him take down a man trafficking children, and in return, he helped me clear a gang threatening my brother’s. Somewhere, at some point, the favors we did for each other stopped being favors, and became a partnership.” Altair stopped then, a bitter laugh falling from his lips. Deen had _worked_ with him? Deed had… His face was blurring in front of her. But she held his gaze. “It was supposed to be our last one. He’d planned to take the winter off,” Altair paused. “Planned to spend it with his family, celebrate his beautiful, baby sister graduating college.”

Yasmine tried to say something, _anything_ , but her breath caught in her throat, and all she could manage was a choked sob. Her face was wet, her lashes heavy with tears, but she made no move to wipe them. She remembered the day of her graduation. Remembered receiving news of his death instead of flowers. The pistol shook in her hand, now, and it took everything inside of her not to drop it. Not to sink to her knees and cry. Altair’s warm thumbs pressed hesitantly against her cheeks, swiping upwards, taking her tears.

“We were supposed to meet with a few of our Leil Clan leaks, corner the leader, take him in, put an end to his ring. We’d just gotten enough evidence to do it. But they got tagged.” Altair paused, palms cupping her cheeks, catching her tears as they fell. “It was chaos in that building.” 

Yasmine knew that building. The building where they’d found her brother crumpled in a corner, his phone gripped in one hand, a pistol in the other. His last contact had been Altair al-Bedawi. Yasmine had visited it two weeks later, promising to not let Deen Ra’ad’s memory to be lost to such a dilapidated place. 

Altair continued, “Deen was shot.” 

_By you_ , Yasmine wanted to say, wanted to scream, but all the left her lips was a choked sob. Altair didn't pause:

“By one of the Leil boys. It was laced with poison, not enough to kill him, but enough to incapacitate him. And he asked me to make sure they didn’t find him. Make sure they couldn’t torture him.”

 _Oh._ Yasmine swallowed thickly. “And you killed him.”

Altair nodded slowly. “It was the only way. I—I made sure it was painless. Yasmine,” his voice broke, and Yasmine felt something inside her breaking, breaking, breaking—“I had no choice.”

Her pistol slipped from her grasp, and she likened the sound of it clattering to the floor to that of her heart, shattering to pieces. All that had kept her moving forward was the promise of avenging Deen, but now, now—

“Did you find him?” She asked. “Their leader.” 

Altair studied her, and when he spoke, his voice was still soft, “No.” And then: “But I’ve never stopped looking.” 

Yasmine dropped her gaze to his hands, wondering when he’d stopped wiping away her tears. Wondered when she’d stopped crying. She reached for his hands. He met her halfway. “I’m going to find him.” 

Altair smiled at that, and though it was as broken as her heart felt, she realized he had dimples. She wanted to trace them. Wanted to—"Okay."

“Okay?” Yasmine laughed wetly, forcing her sadness back into a little box. She'd cried enough, _felt_ enough, and now she needed... What did she need? She'd spent years of her life readying to kill Altair al-Badawi, and she'd finally gotten the chance. But he'd saved her brother, killed him as an act of mercy, and she didn't know what to do, now. “Will... will you help me?”

“Help you?" Altair looked genuinely confused. "I thought you were just going to walk away now that you’ve realized I’m not the man you’re after?”

“Mmm. Who said you’re not the man I’m after?”

“Eh? I thought we’d gotten past the stage of murder.” 

"There is the little fact that I was contracted to kill you," Yasmine hummed. "For two hundred grand."

Altair gaped. "Two hundred gra—bullshit. I'm worth more than that. Who hired you? I need to..."

There was a pout growing on his face as he ranted, and she couldn't stop the laugh that spilled from her. The sound had Altair stuttering to a pause, gaze dropped to her lips, again, and Yasmine bit her lip. Dropped her gaze to the pistol on the floor. Looked up at him through wet lashes. “Would it be weird to kiss you when there’s a gun between us?” 

It was his turn to laugh, warm and deep and rich, and she wanted to bottle it up and get drunk off of it. Yasmine wondered if a laugh would be all it took to heal her heart. And then—

_Then._

Then his lips were against hers. Soft, inviting, and Yasmine smiled against the kiss. And then it was turning deeper and Altair’s arms were wrapping around her, tugging her close. Closer. Yasmine let her hands find their way to his hair, threading through the soft locks. She pulled away with a gasp, knocking her forehead against Altair's, breathing raggedly.

And suddenly, she didn't know what to do. She’d just kissed the man she thought had killed her brother—who _had_ killed her brother, and now she wanted to kiss him again. The feelings were back, but it was spilling from another, foreign box, and it was all too much, too—

“Are you going to kiss him, too?”

“What? _Oh._ Why? Are you already jealous?” 

“No. Why would I be jealous?” 

“Mm. Okay, then.”

“Wait. Fine. Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“ _Yes,_ I’m jealous.”


End file.
